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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019505">Moira's Roses'</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Streetlamp_Sunset/pseuds/Streetlamp_Sunset'>Streetlamp_Sunset</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Diamonds and Crows [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Family Feels, Gen, Next-Gen, Post-Canon, Rose Apothecary (Schitt's Creek), Traditions, family business</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:01:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Streetlamp_Sunset/pseuds/Streetlamp_Sunset</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“See what?” Theia asked, turning to meet his eyes. RJ grinned, dimples peeking out from beneath his stubble.<br/>

</p><p>“David and Patrick haven’t touched the books in over a year, Theia,” he said, “You’re already doing this.”<br/>

</p><p> <br/></p><p>David and Patrick live a full happy life together, growing old in their stone cottage. Rose Apothecary stays in the family after they retire.<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Theia Rose Mullens &amp; Roland Moira Schitt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Diamonds and Crows [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Moira's Roses'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Theia stepped through the side door of the Apothecary, moving to sit cross legged in front of the aged gray stone in the garden. She reached out to trace the familiar engraving: The Moira’s Rose’s Garden 4856.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Grandma,” she said softly. Theia picked one of the wilting tulips, pulling the silky petals away one by one. The breeze carried them off. She smoothed her thumb over the silhouette on her wrist, the fine raised line of a crow. Moira would know what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theia sighed, turning so she could lay alongside the low wooden wall. The summer sun was warm on her face, soaking into her jeans and sweater. She fiddled with the metal fastening at its collar. Uncle David would be appalled that she was laying on the concrete in Rick Owens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vintage?” he had gasped when she lifted the soft, black sweater from the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle David, it’s like fifty years old,” Theia held it up and turned in the full length mirror of their bedroom. It was totally cute, in a retro goth kind of way, “Mmhm, yeah, love this for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Uncle David hissed, Uncle Patrick doing his best not to laugh at his husband. “How old does she think I am?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’kay, well how would I know?” she rolled her eyes, “you literally refuse to celebrate your birthday with anyone but Uncle Patrick.” Which, ew. But also kind of cute if she didn’t think about it too hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just give her the sweater, David,” Uncle Patrick laughed. She knew he was the more reasonable one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was why it was such a shock that he had been the one to suggest she take over the Apothecary. Theia had a degree in theater. It hardly qualified her to run an entire business, let alone one her family had built from the ground up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re thinking too hard again,” a warm, low voice said from above. Theia’s eyes fluttered open; she squinted into the sun. RJ sat on the low wall at her side, a six pack and a box of chalk next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did the contract renewal for the Warner farm go okay?” Theia asked. Contrary to what she would have people believe, she wasn’t a total asshole. RJ handled her dad’s ex’s account despite the fact that retaining vendors that fit their brand usually fell on her or Uncle David.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, “yeah, Heather’s real nice. You could try talking to her. It’s been over twenty years, I’m pretty sure she’s over it.” Theia hummed noncommittally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better not chance it,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>RJ snorted, pulling a stick of chalk from the box and moving to kneel at her side. “We’re too old for this,” she bit back a grin as he drew it in a line around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold still,” he said, “unless you want me to get dust all over your fancy clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rick Owens,” RJ said, “yeah, I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Theia said with a hum. RJ had exactly seven flannels, three pairs of god forsaken, ill-fitting jeans and several identical white undershirts. Not that she had been paying attention on purpose, but his utter lack of fashion sense was deeply offensive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done,” RJ dusted his hands on his pants, offering her a hand up. She rolled her eyes, but took it. He lay down in the spot she had been and Theia traced his own silhouette on the concrete. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’kay, when we started this little tradition I didn’t not realize how dark it would look,” she said. It had been a lot cuter when they were kids and the outlines were more abstract. Now it kind of looked like a crime scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RJ laughed, reaching out to grab a beer from off the ledge. He opened it with his teeth like some sort of cave person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moria would like it,” he said, passing her the bottle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theia took a drink, nail digging into the soft stick of chalk as she wrote her name in a small, loopy scrawl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She hated it here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” RJ agreed, leaning forward to add his name up above hers, “She loved you though.” Theia sighed, writing her grandmother’s at the top: three Moiras lined up in a neat row. “You’re not her, Theia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You actually think I can do this,” Theia tapped her finger against the bottle, thick silver bands clinking softly against the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>RJ laughed, a rough, low sound that drew a smile from her lips, “Theia Moira Rose Mullens when have you ever let anyone stop you?” He bumped their shoulders together, “you’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See what?” Theia asked, turning to meet his eyes. </span>
  <span>RJ grinned, dimples peeking out from beneath his stubble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David and Patrick haven’t touched the books in over a year, Theia,” he said, “You’re already doing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but I don’t know the first thing about profit margins or taxes, or balancing a checkbook,” she said, gesturing with the bottle. RJ moved smoothly out of the way as she almost caught him in the chin. “Do you remember when Uncle David tried to explain what a tax write off was?” she asked, “I left that conversation with way more questions than answers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t think your Uncle David is the best person to ask for financial advice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have someone else in mind?” Theia asked with a small huff. She wasn’t going to ask her mom and Uncle Patrick used a lot of specific, confusing businessy words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>RJ set a hand on her knee, “Theia, I’m not going anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” he said, with a wide sure grin, “you’re stuck with me.” Her heart skipped, thumping wildly in her chest. It probably wasn’t the best idea to go into business with someone she had been in love with half her life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck it,” Theia said. “Let’s do this.” RJ reached out to take her hand, tangling their fingers together. She really needed to call Uncle Patrick.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you very, very much for reading!!<br/>❤️ Sunset</p></blockquote></div></div>
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